


In the Saddle

by DesireeArmfeldt



Category: due South
Genre: Aging, Challenge Response, Character Death, Death References, Friendship, Grief/Mourning, Love, M/M, POV Third Person Limited
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-11
Updated: 2012-08-11
Packaged: 2017-11-11 21:59:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,026
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/483325
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DesireeArmfeldt/pseuds/DesireeArmfeldt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"He said he was losing his edge. And it scared him."</p>
            </blockquote>





	In the Saddle

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written for the Old Friends challenge at [fan-flashworks](http://fan-flashworks.livejournal.com)

“He cut himself,” said Kowalski into his glass of Scotch. “I guess that’s when it all started. Or at least, that’s when I should’ve got a clue something was up.”

“Cut himself?” echoed Vecchio. “Like, on purpose?”

“Nah, nah, nothing like that. Shaving.”

Vecchio frowned. “Benny nicked himself with a razor? That doesn’t. . .”

“Yeah, exactly.” Kowalski took another swallow. “You or me, it’d be nothing to write home about. Happens all the time, especially if you’re crazy enough to use a straight razor. But Ben? Little slip like that?” He shrugged and shook his head.

“Well,” said Vecchio, trying to be reasonable. “He’s—he was getting older, just like the rest of us.”

Kowalski’s mouth kind of twisted up. “Yeah. Just like the rest of us. Think that was the problem, when you get right down to it.”

He knocked back the remains of his drink and let the glass thump to the table.

“So. . . ?” Vecchio prompted, pouring him another.

“So. I don’t know. There was other stuff. We were out in the woods one time, came across this wounded bear. Kind of scary shit, but you know, Chicago spoiled me for keeps: if it’s not carrying a gun or a bomb or a grenade launcher, I don’t get so excited. We had to shoot it; nothing else to do for it. It was dangerous; it was suffering. Ben. . .it took us five shots to drop the damn thing, in the end. Three of his; two of mine.”

“He thought he should have plugged it between the eyes in one?”

Kowalski nodded. “My eyes have been crappy since I was in junior high, I’m used to it. The fact that they’re even crappier these days than they used to be. . .” He shrugged, drank.

“Benny got worked up about it.”

“If by ‘worked up,’ you mean not saying a damn thing, but spending half his time brooding and the other half full-speed-ahead, yeah.”

“He didn’t. . .talk to you about it.”

Kowalski sighed. “You’d think, after all this time. . .but Ben’s still—was always—fuck. He was better about telling me stuff like that than he used to be, but this was. . .That’s how I know it really got to him, because he only ever said anything to me one time. Well, no, twice, I guess. The first time. . .you know how some things, you can only say in the dark?”

Vecchio nodded, trying not to think too hard about Benny and Kowalski in bed together. Not that he had a problem with the two of them as a couple or anything like that; it was just, some things ought to stay private.

“He said he was losing his edge. And it scared him. That’s what he said: it was the only thing that truly scared him.” Kowalski’s voice was ragged by the end, there. He downed the rest of his drink and poured himself another before Vecchio could offer.

“He didn’t mean it that way,” said Vecchio. “I’m sure he. . .” Worried about you? Didn’t want to lose you? He couldn’t think of a way to end that sentence that didn’t sound girly or patronizing or just plain offensive. 

“I know. But he was telling the truth.” Kowalski shrugged. “Ben was the way he was.”

Vecchio nodded. He loved Benny like a brother, but he knew what Kowalski was talking about. That saying that no man is an island? Less true of Benny than of most people.

“So. . . ?” Vecchio prompted, before Kowalski could get too wrapped up in his thoughts.

“So then, back on his birthday, we did, you know, I made a cake, the usual kind of low-key stuff. He had a good time, he was—happy, smiling, you know, the way he does when he ain’t thinking about it?” Kowalski smiled a little, himself. It made his weathered face look boyish for a second. 

“But then we’re washing the dishes after dinner, and he says, out of the blue only not really, maybe he’s been chewing on it all day for all I know. Anyway, he points out that he’s older than his dad was when he—his dad, I mean—died. And then he says, ‘I hope I’ll be lucky enough to die in the saddle, the way he did.’” Kowalski was quoting Fraser directly, Vecchio could tell; it was actually kind of creepy hearing Fraser’s words in Kowalski’s nasal, ex-smoker’s rasp.

“His father didn’t—“

“It’s an expression, for Christ’s sake,” Kowalski snapped. “Die with his boots on. On the job, on the trail, doing what he loved best.”

“It’s not a bad way to go,” said Vecchio.

“Sure ain’t,” Kowalski agreed. “Which is about what I said to Ben at the time. That I felt the same way. But I didn’t—I mean, I meant it, but we were just talking, it was one of those things you think about sometimes, right?”

“Sure.”

“But I think—well, you know Ben, he mostly don’t just say stuff without a reason. Without meaning something by it.”

“You think he was worried about it?”

“Yeah. The edge thing, he. . .yeah. I think he was more freaked out about it than I. . .wanted to think about.” He stared into his glass for a while, swirling the Scotch around.

“So. Then.” Kowalski took a deep breath and blew it out. “The call comes in. This is, I don’t know, weeks later. Well, Ben’s birthday is—never mind, doesn’t matter. The call comes in. Malfeasants, armed and dangerous, weapons smuggling, yadda yadda, you know how that song goes. So we go after ‘em. Call for backup, but up there, backup means a dogsled or maybe a helicopter if it’s real serious, but not for hours, either way.”

Vecchio whistled softly, shaking his head. Stupid, stupid waste. . .but that was Benny for you, always was.

“We track ‘em down, corner ‘em at the foot of this cliff, canyon-thing. There’s two of them, with guns. Ben cut right, I took the one on the left. Got him down before he could get a shot off, we’re rolling around in the snow wrestling for his gun. I got it away from him, but he was a big guy and he was pretty set on pounding the shit out of me, so I was. . .distracted, you know? I heard the shot, two shots. . .I figured. . .I thought. . .”

He covered his eyes with his hand for a couple of seconds. When he looked up again, his eyes were focused somewhere way beyond Vecchio.

“I got in a good one on my guy’s jaw, knocked him silly for long enough to cuff him. Looked up to see how—how Ben was doing. . . Saw him down, saw. . .” He swallowed, shook his head. “Other guy was still on his feet, pointing his gun my way. I plugged him first. Took me three shots.”

“To hit?”

Kowalski shrugged. “To make him stop trying to get up. Like the bear. Hands were shaking too bad. I. . .Fraser would’ve wanted to bring him in alive. I, uh. . .don’t always do what Fraser wants.”

Nodding sympathetically, Vecchio reached over and laid a hand on Kowalski’s forearm.

“You going to get in trouble for that?”

“Huh? Nah, it’s—there was an inquest, went through all that, self-defense. Most complicated part was figuring out how to deal with the fact that I’m not an official anything, but I was acting as Fraser’s. . .deputy, civilian assistant, whatever. Anyway, that’s all done and dusted.”

“Good,” said Vecchio.

Kowalski raised his glass to his mouth and pulled a face. “Why am I drinking this shit?”

“Hey, that’s the good stuff.”

“Oh yeah? That explains why it tastes like cigarettes. But I didn’t mean that, I just. . .” He put the glass down and pushed it away. “I’m not really looking to get wasted, here.”

“You can if you want.”

Kowalski flashed a tired, mouth-only smile. “Too old for that shit. But thanks.”

“No problem.”

Kowalski slumped back in his chair, kind of folded in on himself. Vecchio waited a while to see what he was going to say next, but that turned out to be nothing. Guy looked like he was a million miles away—not that Vecchio blamed him, but he had the feeling that wasn’t where Kowalski needed to be right now.

“So. . .” Vecchio said. “So, what, you’re not thinking Benny was. . .thinking about it, you know, when. . . .?”

“Hell no!” Both Kowalski’s hands came down on the table so hard the bottle jumped and Vecchio had to lunge to keep it from smashing on the floor.

Kowalski shot him an embarrassed look and rubbed the back of his neck. “No, I didn’t mean. . .He wasn’t. . .I mean, hell, he was—as we were heading out there, he was making jokes about moose hock and fucking spaghetti for dinner. He wasn’t—he wouldn’t—“

“No, he wouldn’t,” Vecchio agreed. “He wouldn’t do that to you.”

Kowalski let out a slow, shaky breath. Didn’t say anything, just nodded, his eyes on his hands.

“You know,” said Vecchio softly. “Benny didn’t die like his old man. He didn’t die alone, shot in the back by someone he thought was his friend. He got better than his dad did. You gave him that.”

“Huh,” Kowalski grunted. He took a breath like he was about to say something, but the noise that came out of him had no words in it. His head dropped; he buried his face in his hands and sat there shaking, little moans leaking out of him.

Vecchio thought he should turn his back, give the man some privacy. Instead, he got up, stepped around the table, and put his hand on Kowalski’s shoulder. Standing there, he closed his eyes and let the hold he’d been keeping on his own feelings relax some. Let himself think about Benny, the last time he’d seen him (a year ago, Jesus, more than a year, too fucking long). Benny’s voice on the phone and his crazy, nerdy letters, and all the stupid stuff he’d never gotten around to talking with Benny about because somehow he thought they still had all the time in the world.

At some point, Kowalski pulled himself together and scrubbed at his eyes with his sleeve until Vecchio dug out his handkerchief and shoved it into Kowalski’s hand. Startled, Kowalski looked up at Vecchio—whose face probably didn’t look as messed-up as Kowalski’s, but bad enough—blinked a couple of times, and then snorted with laughter.

“Yeah, all right, but use the damn thing, will you?” said Vecchio, half-laughing himself and giving Kowalski’s shoulder a shake.

Kowalski flipped him the bird with his free hand, but did in fact wipe his face.

“Listen, Kowalski,” said Vecchio, before they had a chance to get all embarrassed and awkward. “Don’t go back up there by yourself. Stay with us for a while. We got room, we got sunshine, we got pools you can swim in without freezing your nuts off. What do you say?”

“Shit, Vecchio. . .I don’t know. I mean, thanks, but. . .I don’t see what I’d do hanging around here. Plus I been up North so long, my body’s forgotten how to deal with heat.”

“So stay in the air conditioning,” said Vecchio. “Look, don’t make me sic Stella on you.”

Kowalski snorted, still looking down at his hands. “You fight dirty?”

“Damn straight, I do. You want me to start talking about what Benny would want?”

“Not really,” said Kowalski softly, but Vecchio could see the corners of his mouth twitch.

“Okay, then. You stay. Long as you want.”

He offered his hand to Kowalski, who took it, letting Vecchio haul him to his feet. And Kowalski wasn’t Benny, not even a little bit. But he was some kind of family, and more than family, and there was a mountain of stuff between the two of them that no one else in the world could share or understand. And it seemed like the most natural thing in the world to pull him in close and fold him into a hug and just stand there for a while, two guys giving each other something to hang onto.


End file.
